Farewell for now, Superstars 2020. See y’all in 2021!

I slept 14 hours last night. It was not the sushi coma from the mountain of sushi I ate first-thing after I got home, it was the Superstars coma from the firehose of information I ingested.

This year, I went to Superstars thinking I needed a break from it because Kristine Kathryn Rusch broke my brain during one of her infamous craft workshops the week before, and I had a crap-load of work to do. (Happily, mind you, because her workshop was insanely insightful, and I am anxious to do the work. But there is still work to do. And if there’s one thing I’ve never been afraid of, it’s work.)

I also skipped half the SSWS sessions last year because a lot of it didn’t seem to apply to where I was in my career. And I am ruthlessly cutting back on my events and travel from here on out because, finances. And also, writing production.

So a combination of factors were leading up to my first-ever thought of, maybe I can save the cost of another trip and not go to SSWS 2021. I hated giving up the chance to re-connect with writing friends at this annual reunion, but my financial and writing health was more important.

Enter Superstars 2020, who said, “Hold our craft beer.” (Because it’s Kevin J. Anderson, after all.) And then they all proceeded to show me everything I have yet to learn about this business of writing that seems to change daily, never mind annually. I took a crap-load of notes. I have a metric crap-ton of information to digest, ruminate over, and turn into usable cud to further my career. But thanks to the firehose this year, I have concrete ways to implement the career strategy that started brewing in the back of my head late last summer, and a path to get there–my way, and on my terms.

So I was literally the first in line to sign up for SSWS 2021. (A huge thank you to Travis Heermann, who helped me navigate the new reg system. Sorry I also helped you unwittingly break a few rules. But also not sorry.)

Farewell for now, Tribe friends. It’s back to the grindstone I go–but this time, with the joyful knowledge that I’ll see you all again, anon.